Armchair
by magistrate
Summary: A fluffy little story about prebriefing boredom.


**Title**: Armchair  
**Rating**: "M" for OMG ANGSTYDEATH. ...**I'm kidding**. The only reason this would hop above "K" is because O'Neill curses once or twice.  
**Genre**: Fluff. Fluuff. Fluffffff. Team-dynamic. Fluff.  
**Beta**: Er... no.  
**Continuity**: Sometime during the series. Before Season 8 and after Season 3. I really don't know more than that, but there aren't any spoilers.  
**Summary**: Word association.  
**Disclaimer**: It's on _Fanfiction_ dot net. That should tell you what you need to know. ...I really didn't want to post this or ever look at it again, since it's slightly saccharine, but I figure someone out there might get a kick out of it. Just be warned.

* * *

Hammond was on the phone with the President, and he looked as if he was settling in for the long haul. That left SG-1 in the briefing room, looking for something to do other than speculating about the mission report to come. Since it was Daniel's turn to choose (and Jack remained convinced that the archaeologist had never run a paper-airplane sortie in his life), they were playing Word Association: Classified Edition. 

They had just finished an animated debate about whether or not Sam was allowed to use words or phrases over ten syllables (the phrase in question had been 'senescifying nanotechnology,' which would have been a much better jab at Col. O'Neill had anyone understood half of it) when Jack realized how utterly impossible the situation would have been with anyone else.

Which was, after all, the point of Classified Edition.

"Carter?"

"Just a sec," Carter said.

"It's your turn," Daniel prodded.

"I'm counting," Carter responded.

"Oh, for crying out loud!" Jack burst. "Carter loses the game."

Daniel glanced over. "It's word association, Jack. You can't _lose_ word association."

"Nope. I'm changing the rules. Nothing longer than ten syllables, and if you have to pause first to _count_ the syllables it's still too long, and _you lose_."

Sam shrugged. "Kieron," she said.

A moment's pause.

"All right, see, we're just not listening to you any more," Jack said.

"In which case it would be your turn, O'Neill," Teal'c said.

"Yeah." He thought for a moment, didn't think of anything, and resorted to an old default. "Beer."

Daniel squinted at him. "Beer's not classified, Jack."

"Then come up with something that is!"

Everyone thought for a moment. "...Siler," Daniel said, followed by _comatose_ from Sam and _shal'vec_ from Teal'c, which was as far as anyone knew the Jaffa equivalent.

"Kieron is a perfectly valid word," Sam added, but in good humour.

No. No possible other combination of people could yeild this result.

He had a habit of not seeing eye-to-eye with Daniel, Teal'c wasn't even his own species, he outranked Carter by two levels and out-aged her by--well. He wasn't going to think about that. And yet, being a part of the team--on duty, off duty, sitting in a Goa'uld prison block or sitting in O'Malley's eating steaks, he felt absolutely, utterly comfortable with each of them. Even moreso than he had with Kawalski and Feretti, moreso than he had his entire career--

--then again, it was one thing to bond down in the trenches. It was another to bond in the hallways of an alien mothership knowing that you were all that stood between Earth and utter annihilation. It was another still to see one of your friends die for you, and then to have the unique experience of having them come back to talk about it.

It wasn't just a sense of pride or control or security, though it had elements of all of those. He could feel them at his back from ten klicks. In the direst of situations, it gave him comfort to know they were there--as if nothing could be that bad, as long they were up and fighting.

His father had owned an old La-Z-Boy recliner, and his mother had delighted in reminding him how he had crawled into on nightmare nights. (_Back about a hundred years ago_, his mind filled in.) And, while it might not be especially appropriate to compare the world's flagship offworld team to a piece of furniture, the analogy had remained in the back of his mind for a while.

So, when Daniel said "SG-1," just after Teal'c answered _Pride_ and Sam answered _Colonel_--and then looked immediately as sheepish as she ever did--Jack answered _armchair_ and wondered why everyone was giving him such an odd look.

"...what?"

Daniel coughed, and raised both eyebrows at Teal'c. "Your turn?"

"Indeed," he remarked, and added "Tok'ra" before anyone could assume _Indeed_ had been the prompt. In the chorus of _Rocks_, _Kree_ and _Dammit_ that followed, Jack caught Sam casting him a questioning look. He shrugged back at her.

Nobody had to know. Besides, he had the feeling they already did.


End file.
